


Willing To Wait

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:39:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I came already, so I wouldn’t be tempted to speed this up any,” Eames sighs. “I’ve just been sitting here, watching you. Watching you hanging here, all tied up, naked, breathing heavy. Waiting for me. God, what a sight. I couldn’t even begin to list all of the things I wanted to do to you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Willing To Wait

The bedsprings creak under a familiar weight. With his vision out of the picture, Arthur is acutely aware of the warmth of a body a few feet away.

“Have you been good while I was gone?” Eames purrs in his ear.

Arthur doesn’t know how he could not have been good. His hands are tied. There’s nothing to rub against. He’s just kneeling on the bed, tender wrists bound and tied by a long ribbon of fabric to a beam high above. Goosebumps are rising on his skin.

His knees sink into the mattress as Eames settles closer. Arthur feels rough hands curve around his thighs, feels the hairs on his legs prickle under the touch as those hands travel up and down. Eames’s index fingers trace the groove of one of Arthur’s thigh muscles and follows it up to his hips.

When Eames reels him in by the hips, Arthur gasps at the first touch of his cock to a warm crease of fabric.

“You like that?” Eames growls, closing his lips over the sinew of Arthur’s neck and sucking. He wraps his hand around Arthur’s cock. And his hand is wet with something, sticky, thick and viscous.

“I came already, so I wouldn’t be tempted to speed this up any,” Eames sighs. “I’ve just been sitting here, watching you. Watching you hanging here, all tied up, naked, breathing heavy. Waiting for me. God, what a sight. I couldn’t even begin to list all of the things I wanted to do to you.”

Eames guides the head of Arthur’s cock over the crotch of his trousers. Arthur bucks into the friction, but he wills himself down from the twinges of pleasure that are rapidly becoming high-tide waves. He knows Eames too well to think that Eames will let him get off this easily, so to speak.

And he’s right.

“Oh no.” Eames grabs his hips and stills him. His hands travel smoothly up Arthur’s back when he’s confident Arthur won’t continue to seek any more illegal pleasure against his body. “You were being so good. I’d hate to see you lapse back into your old bad habits.”

Eames presses Arthur close to his chest. It feels, perversely, like a consoling, platonic hug.

But platonic hugs didn’t usually involve fingers sneaking between one’s buttocks to rub softly at one’s hole.

Arthur clenches all the muscles of his body to keep himself from pushing back into that finger. Eames just keeps rubbing the lightest of circles, murmuring fractured sentences of praise into Arthur’s ear. He seems to have no intention of breaching that tight ring of muscle, but fuck, even this teasing feels brilliant.

Arthur had forgotten how good it felt just to have a finger massaging that highly receptive clutch of nerves. His throat opens and he is unable to stem the flow of moans.

“Shhh,” Eames whispers. “You know how good it’s going to feel when I finally let you come." He pulls away and Arthur’s front feels the cold air brush across his chest and thighs. Eames presses both of his thumbs to Arthur’s nipples, a touch as light as a snug shirt. The thumbs don’t move, though, they just rest there. The only stimulation Arthur’s sensitive nipples get is when he breathes in and out, and he draws an extra-deep breath in the hopes of scraping his nipple over Eames’s thumb just enough to put himself over the edge. “Don’t I always know exactly what you need?”

The ache shooting down Arthur’s arms is becoming hotter. He has no idea how long he’s been tied up here, with his arms over his head and a blindfold over his eyes. He has a good sense of time, honed by years in the Marines and in a job that required him to be constantly alert. But the absence of light and the swollenness of his cock, straddling the fine line between pleasure and pain, had sapped his ability to focus on anything but his sore muscles, his touch-hungry skin, and the man hovering around him.

A man whose existence has been stripped down to nothing but heavy breath, teasing hands, and—now—a hot mouth on his nipple, closing around the nub. His tongue is licking the goosebumped areola in measured strokes. Arthur’s nipples had a rather special relationship with his cock—“Just like Britain and the US,” Eames often joked.

Arthur knows his cock is jerking uncontrollably toward his belly. He feels Eames withdraw, can almost feel Eames’s eyes roving over his cock’s taut, gleaming circumference, watching it helplessly twitch and jump at Eames’s own mercy. The thought of Eames watching him like that flushes him with embarrassment and arousal.

“I feel like an idiot,” Arthur says, gritting his teeth.

“You say that every time, love,” Eames says, stroking bracketing hands down Arthur’s back and stomach. “But you look so beautiful.” Eames holds Arthur’s back still while he rubs his belly. “Too bad you can’t come just from having me touch you like this.”

Eames knows—he fucking knows—how close Arthur can get just from attention to his stomach. But it’s never quite enough. He bends down to plant a kiss on Arthur’s stomach, the part just below his belly button where the muscle goes gently convex, and he shapes his palm to that little curve while dipping the tip of his tongue into Arthur’s navel.

“God, I love fucking your belly button with my tongue,” Eames sighs. The word _fucking_ sends another hot jolt to Arthur’s cock, layering over the other ripples of pleasure that began with Eames’s ministrations to his belly.

“I fuck—I fucking hate you.” Arthur hears himself moan. “You don't have any idea how hard this is. I need to come. I can’t stand this anymore.”

“Of course you can come.” Eames cups the back of Arthur’s head and kisses his forehead, matted with sweaty hair. “But you have to ask the right way. Demanding things of people is never the right way to get them to do what you want. More flies with honey, right?”

“You want me to beg?”

Eames isn’t touching him at all anymore. Judging by the sagging of the bed, he’s about half a foot away from Arthur. _How far is that in metrics?_ Arthur wonders. Anything to get his mind off of how badly he wants— _needs_ —to come right now. Off of how primally angry he is at Eames. (Even though Arthur was the one who asked for this in the first place.)

 _What are the elements in the lanthanide series?_ he tries to remember.

“Eames, please,” Arthur says softly. “I really, really need to come.”

“Hmm.” Eames judges. “I’m still hearing some entitlement there. Try again.”

Arthur breathes so deeply it shakes his insides. _Lanthanum, cerium, praseodymium._ It takes a lot of internal preparation before he can speak again, and then it comes out as a trembling moan. “I don’t think I can handle it if you don’t get me off. I feel like I’m gonna die.”

“A bit of melodrama. I like that,” Eames admires. “But I wouldn’t mind some flattery.”

Arthur’s arms are aching. His thighs are aching. His body is taut as a bridge, but he has no idea where he’ll go when he can’t handle the strain. There's nowhere to go. He groans.

“Eames.” he begins. “You are the only person who can make me feel like this. You’re the only one who could make me come so hard. I want your hands on me. Please.” He throws his head back, lengthening the already long lines of his neck. Showing his vulnerability. As if he could get any more vulnerable than he already is. “I need you.”

Eames says nothing. Arthur despairs. Is he just going to sit there and watch Arthur squirm again?

Then Arthur hears a telltale rustle of fabric. “Are you gonna fuck me?” he begs, unable to help his relieved babbling. The bed squeaks and Arthur feels Eames’s heat against him. This time his skin is bare. Eames is rubbing his half-hard cock first against each of Arthur’s buttocks, one by one, then he slides it up and down the dip of his spine.

“You know, I could get off again if I really wanted to,” Eames says. He’s almost gleeful. “Hardly fair, is it?”

“Fuck you,” Arthur grunts.

Eames’s hands crawl around the sides of Arthur’s ribcage to pinch his nipples. Arthur’s head snaps forward, and he cries out wordlessly.

“Oh, baby, is it that bad?” Eames kisses the grooved nape of Arthur’s neck. “I can take the blindfold off if you’d prefer to see this. Is that why you’re so upset?”

Eames unknots the blindfold and it falls forward. Visually it’s not much of an improvement, but the low light still stings Arthur’s eyes. Arthur sees the grainy shape of Eames before him, hulking and naked. He lunges forward and sinks his teeth into Eames’s shoulder.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” Eames hisses. “Didn’t I say that you are not to move? Now, I may not let you come at all. How would you like that?”

Arthur bites down on his own lip so hard he’s surprised blood isn’t springing from his toothmarks.

“I’m sorry,” he forces out.

Eames breathes onto Arthur’s lips. “Are you really?”

“Yes. Yes I am."

It sounds like Eames is settling back onto his heels. “Can you say, Eames, I shouldn’t have done that, and I understand if you won’t let me come now?”

Arthur stuggles to hold his head up on his already wobbly neck. “Eames, I should never have done that, and I understand if you won’t let me come now.”

Eames inhales deeply. “That wasn’t exactly what I said, I’m afraid.” But he slides closer to Arthur. “Since I’m not a cruel man, I will give you what you want. This time.” There’s a twist of menace in his voice. He pushes himself up against Arthur and Arthur watches as Eames draws his own knees together. He grasps Arthur’s cock and guides it between his thighs, squeezing them even tighter. Through the haze of his frustration, Arthur finally begins to understand what’s going on, that his cock is being stroked and warmed by Eames’s thick thighs, rubbing back and forth against each other and against Arthur's cock.

He pulls back and pushes into the tight clench of that space. He does it again. Again. Again. Eames hums happily when Arthur’s cock nudges the underside of his balls.

The throbbing in Arthur’s cock spreads down his thighs and up through his gut. It's just as overwhelming as Eames had promised. It only takes a few more pushes and he’s gone, shooting cum all over Eames’s thighs. He lets out a sharp cry and rises on his haunches. His cum spurts across Eames’ cock and belly. Eames threads fingers through Arthur’s hair, sealing up his mouth with his own as he cries out.

When the last of Arthur’s spasms has ebbed, Eames unties his hands. Arthur slumps onto the bed, limp and exhausted.

“Still hate me?” Eames asks, dipping his finger into the cum on his stomach and drawing an abstract shape on the slope of Arthur’s lower back. Arthur nods into the pillow.

“Good. Because I hate you too," Eames says as he rests his chin lightly on the back of Arthur’s head. “I have to say, I hate you madly. I hate you so much it hurts.”

Eames delivers a lingering kiss to Arthur’s cheek and pulls the light sheet up over both of them. Arthur sighs and burrows into Eames’s chest.

“Mmmm,” says Eames. His voice is full of irrepressible fondness. “Glad we’ve gotten that sorted out then.”


End file.
